


Collecting Stolen Moments

by finkpishnets



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:05:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t meant to happen until it did, a haze of too much booze and not enough sleep and the phone call none of them received from Cobb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collecting Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

> For the inception_kink prompt ‘morning after’.

He wakes up first, his arm complaining where it’s trapped awkwardly beneath Ariadne’s shoulders, his hand brushing against Arthur’s cheek, and Eames takes a moment to think, to wonder at how he can walk through peoples dreams for a living and still be surprised by this. By _them_.

It wasn’t meant to happen until it did, a haze of too much booze and not enough sleep and the phone call none of them received from Cobb. He doesn’t know who started it, thinks maybe it was Ariadne and Arthur with their constant looks and little touches, or maybe it was him and Arthur, with their heavy words and loaded smiles.

It doesn’t matter. They ended up in the same place, regardless.

They don’t dream anymore, any of them, without the aid of a machine and a plan, and Eames thinks that’s maybe a good thing right now with the smell of sex on the air and the ache under his skin. He still reaches for his totem, just to be sure.

“Morning,” Arthur says, low and quiet. He looks remarkably calm, but then he always does – _(his eyes are shut tight, his breathing ragged, and he looks completely wrecked and completely beautiful, Ariadne soft and ethereal beneath him, Eames mouth on his skin, everywhere, anywhere)_ – and it’s a relief.

Eames would have put his money on Arthur freaking out first.

“Morning,” he replies, and brushes the fingers against Arthur’s cheek downwards so they’re pressed against the corner of his mouth, watches the way Arthur’s eyes darken, and it makes Eames’ toes curl against the sheets.

“What time is it?” Arthur asks, and Eames can feel the way he shapes the words against the pads of his fingers.

“Does it matter?” he says.

“Maybe,” Arthur says, and then shakes his head a little. “No.”

“Shhh,” Ariadne says from where she’s pressed closely between them. “Sleeping here.”

“Oh yeah?” Eames says with a grin. “Then you won’t mind if Arthur and I keep ourselves… _occupied_.”

Ariadne’s eyes snap open, shifting from focused to not and Eames can tell the moment she really remembers what happened, where she is – _(she’s gripping his shoulders tightly, leaving bruises on his skin, her body clenching around him, and when she moans it’s loud and prolonged before Arthur swallows it between his lips)_ – and he watches the way a blush slowly spreads across her chest.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, and her voice shakes a little in embarrassment but is otherwise unwavering.

“That wouldn’t be fair,” Arthur says, and then he’s kissing her, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth, and Eames can’t help but stare, thinks maybe that’s the point; their lives are so full of layers that maybe it’s not surprising they had to add another one to this, too.

Ariadne’s hand curls around his arm, pulls him closer, and then he’s pressing kisses against her collarbone, against Arthur’s, until he doesn’t know who’s kissing who anymore.

 _(Clothes scattered around the room, legs intertwined and bodies pressed close, so close, as they laugh against each other’s skin. Everything too much and not enough until it’s all they can do to breathe and keep moving.)_

“I think,” Ariadne says, breaking away breathless and laughing, “that we all need to shower. Like, _badly_.”

“Great idea,” Eames says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ve always wondered how many people you can fit in a shower.”

“I didn’t mean _together_ ,” Ariadne says, and Arthur’s smiling against the back of her neck, his hands drawing lazy patterns on her hips. They looks gorgeous together, loose and pliant and happy, and Eames wonders when he stopped being jealous and started feeling like a part of that belonged to _him_.

About the time they all fell into bed together, he supposes.

 _(Arthur’s pressing open mouthed kisses against his tattoos, watching his face all the while, and Eames is shaking, can’t stop, especially when Ariadne runs blunt nails down his chest, her other hand in Arthur’s hair, and her fingers brush lower, so, so lightly, and he can barely breathe.)_

“I’ll pout,” Eames says, and it’s an empty threat – he’d never give Arthur that much ammunition – but it makes Ariadne smile again, makes Arthur’s eyes crinkle up in amusement, and it’s stupid how much of himself he’s willing to give these two people.

“Well, if you’ll _pout_ ,” Arthur says with a wicked grin, and damn if it doesn’t make Eames want to never leave this room, food and work and _life_ be damned.

“I don’t actually think my shower’s big enough for three people,” Ariadne says, but she sounds less and less convinced.

“You said that about your bed, too,” Eames points out. “Besides, come on, _shower sex_. We might as well start with the obvious locations before we begin getting more creative.”

“You’re going to be impossible, aren’t you?” Arthur says, and it might sound resigned but it’s also some kind of promise, an opinion besides his own that says _‘this wasn’t just one night’_ , and Ariadne’s smiling softly, like she can read his mind, and maybe she can, maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to her, but she’s agreeing, too.

“Absolutely, I plan to corrupt you both entirely. Now, come on, shower and then I say we go out for breakfast. I don’t know about you two, but all the sex has left me famished.”

“Impossible,” Ariadne agrees, sharing a look with Arthur and then climbs over Eames and out of the bed. “Also,” she says, as she walks slowly and deliberately towards the bathroom, “I am a _very_ creative person.”

Eames catches Arthur’s eye, sees his own looks of surprise and want and _‘why are we still sitting here?_ ’ reflected back, and moves swiftly, feeling Arthur’s hand on his wrist as they follow her.

He’s not surprised they ended up here, not really, and maybe he should be, maybe it’s the most foolish thing any of them have ever done, but he thinks the joy of living most your life in dreams is that reality becomes radically less terrifying because of it.

 

+

 

 _(Eames kisses Ariadne, drunken and jokingly, and hears the way Arthur’s breath catches in his throat. So he kisses Arthur, too. Sits back and watches Ariadne and Arthur as they do the same with small smiles that suggest it’s not a first._

 _“Are we really doing this?” Ariadne asks after the air has become too electrified, too intense, the lightest of touches, the heaviest of looks, and she doesn’t sound scared, doesn’t sound anything other than turned on and mildly surprised, and Arthur reaches out for her and turns to looks at him, waiting carefully._

 _“Yes,” Eames says. “Yes, we really are.”)_


End file.
